#91: You Can Pick Your Crayon, But Stay Inside The Lines (Social Mores)

They All Gang Up, And Then They Bluster,
All Those Seeking Your Adjuster,
Helping Them To Feel Their Muster
Above Someone's Condemning . . .
Still, We Know Their Quaintly Cluster,
Toe-To-Toe For Any Custer,
Like Of Feather, Quick To Duster . . .
As Any Other Lemming.

There was one strange place we found
where, measured on a meter,
were all the folks who played a game
of following the leader.

They'd all be going one way, strong,
then someone else would lead . . .
and, no sooner would that path be trod . . .
the point-man would concede.

The group was making progress, but
the players, like most kinds
of cows and sheep that follow bells,
appeared to have no minds.

So, this went on for quite a time,
but lacking noticeable
affect to any direction for
the players as a whole.

After giving serious reflection to
a few bygone forays,
it was Jo who got the notion we'd
found the State of Mores.

There came no revelation, nor
a sense of great design.
The Buggy just revved up when we
refused a place in line.